


The Waterlily.

by hennethgalad



Category: The Silmarillion. J.R.R.Tolkien.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 14:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13906230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: far to the South of Beleriand, in a city of the Avari, a sailor has a vision of the War of Wrath.for the Silmarillion Writers Guild 'Breaking Boundaries' challenge, to respect Black History Month.





	The Waterlily.

 

               The Waterlily.

  
   I come from beautiful Jrashushan, the city of pearls, the waterlily, which stretches its gleaming arms along the shores of the inlet, its shell-studded halls and towers shining in the sun, and shimmering under the moon. The shallow sandy waters are the clearest, richest blue that can be believed, and my memories of a long childhood are all of one endless moment of laughter, dazzled by the golden glow of the sun on the sparkling foam.   
   But the brightness of morning was overshadowed by the clouds from the North, our Enemies closed in, with bribes and threats, and at last with sword and spear. Our leaders fought or fled, while we watched helplessly, not warriors but sailors of the shallow waters, bringing travellers to share the wonders of Jrashushan awhile, before returning to their dusty homes.

   My mother loved the sea, preferring to float rather than stand or sit, and always wore robes in the colours of the sea, especially a vivid green-blue, which made her honey dark skin glow. The beauty of my mother was a matter of song, and I yearn for her sweet smile more than I miss all the people of Zarmats'ats and all their great creations.

  
   But it happened that in the third year of the sun after the fall of the Zarmats'ati, a dream came to me, a dream of such strange fascination that I was moved to share my thoughts with my mother. She was dandling my nephew, a bright lad, though still struggling to speak.   
She looked gravely at me, understanding that though I am secretly a romantic spirit, I have neither vision nor imagination to move me to the expression of the self in art. My passion is all given to the sea, or rather, to ships, and to the sailing of ships. Where my mother delights in stillness, and the gentle arms of the Ocean, my delight is in speed and air, and the skimming flight of the ship across the face of the wind.   
My mother listened, then, with keen interest, and silently stroked the dark curls of the child.

   She pondered my words for a time, then frowned at me.  
"Tell me the tale of your dream once more, dear son, for I would see more clearly through your eyes."  
  
   "I dreamed of the sea, as often I do. The waters drew back, far back, out beyond the mouth of the inlet, far out to the deep ocean. The creatures of the sea flapped and floundered, the bones of sunken ships were revealed, and I knew that when the waters returned, they would rise high in the narrowing space of the inlet, and drown fair Jrashushan. But my cry of alarm was choked in my mouth, I gazed in awe at the vast wave, and the mighty army riding its crest.

   For there came the Valhar as the songs of the Hunter had told us. The Lord of the Air, clad all in sapphire blue, borne on a chariot drawn by eagles of staggering size. His features could not be discerned, he seemed to be formed of light, the light of the sky itself. Beside him, formless to my dazzled eyes, sailed a star, not fallen but moving with deadly intent, silver-bright, casting long shadows on the green sea. And in the train rode others, mighty children of the great Eru, and behind them a host, an army, sailing, or flying, past my staring eyes into the North. "

   My mother put the child down, and he ambled away to chase butterflies. She turned her warm brown eyes upon me.  
   "It may be that you have been sent a vision, my son, but it may be that this is the treachery and deceit of the Enemy. I will consult with those who are learned in such matters. Have you spoken of this to your dear father ?"  
   I shook my head. My father and I were too alike to be comfortable together. We had learned politeness, but we would never learn ease. I could no more confide in him than I could confide in my classmate, who lives across the water, whom I loathe. My mother stroked a strand of my hair back across my shoulder and sighed.   
   "Will you tell me, dear Loghal, should you see this vision again ?"  
   "You believe that it is a vision, then ?"  
   "I fear so, my dear; as you have said, you have always been practical. This dream could be dismissed as whimsy in an artist; but in a sailor like you, who listens humbly to the wind and the sea, and hears their voices truly, such a vision may be taken as foresight, and must be heeded."

  
   When the vision came again, my mother shared the news with my father. He gazed out of the window, past the swaying leaves of the fig tree, to where hundreds of craft floating serenely in the bright sea, then ran a hand through his long hair, which he always wore unbound on shore. His hair is a marvel, a sheet of shimmering black, smooth as moonlit water. My own hair has a reddish gleam, like my grandfather, and ripples like sea in a sailing-wind.   
   But my father rose suddenly and looked curiously at me. I wondered what was happening, to him, to me, and most of all, to the Wanderers, our lost kin, who had followed the Hunter into the West, before ever the sun rose and turned the dark sea blue. He spoke abruptly.  
   "If only we knew what was happening in the North. I wonder if we should seek the Wanderers, to discover the meaning of this vision. It may be that we will not be bringing news to them, for many among the wise heeded the call of the Hunter. But if we are their only hope of hearing the warning, we must move to aid them."  
   I was astonished, my father’s thoughts echoed my own so clearly that I understood that it was his intention to leave Jrashushan, to leave my mother, and set forth alone. I could not bear it, I leaped to my feet and held up my hands as though to restrain him by brute force. But my mother sighed, and my father quivered, as one newly awoken, then dropped to his knees before her, reaching up a pleading hand to her face.  
   "My love." he whispered softly "I must warn them."

   But I, astonished at my own daring and defiance of he who had been ever my captain until at last I had built the Ut'votnuk, and become captain of my own small craft, I boldly, mutinously, set my hand upon his shoulder.  
   "I shall carry the warning, dear father. You must not leave mother, and my sisters, and your grandchildren. But I have no such duties to command my will. I will follow my dream, into the North, and seek out our lost kin, and bring tidings home with me to Jrashushan. "

   And even as I spoke the words, I knew that this would be, and in the eyes of my dear parents I saw that they too knew that they must part with me, though my father, as ever, had tried to spare my mother the pain of parting from her son. But it was to I that the dream had come, it was for me to undertake the quest, and though my heart wept at the pain of parting, my love of the sea made my spirit fly, skimming along the sparkling foam, wild as a white sea bird.

 

******

 

   It was the great desert which brought an end to my doubts. I had not conceived the vastness of the world, nor imagined the horror of darkness to one raised in shining Jrashushan. For within days of sailing North along the shoreline, the lights of Zarmats'ats grew scattered, until the last solitary outposts slipped back into the wake of Ut'votnuk, and I was alone, in the blackness of a starless night, only my own lanterns of gold gleaming in the endless blackness, only the soft hiss of the ship through the unseen water, and the faint creak of rope and timber, and the deafening pulse of my blood.

   For it might be that the Elves of the North were already perished, slain by the wrathful Eru for unpardonable sins, and that what my vision had shown was the vengeful army, whose deadly onslaught had long quenched the lights of our Northern kin. My thoughts were as dark as the night, and the light of the golden lanterns wavered as the tears filled my eyes. I had never imagined such desolation, and pain and horror gripped me until I trembled, cowering like a child.

   Many times I had seen the great darkness before, out at sea, alone or in company, it was familiar. But here, in the dry scrubland on the edge of Zarmats’ats, no warm twinkle of hall and inn beckoned me home, the shore was as empty as the sea, as black as the sky, and for the first time in my life I was truly alone.  
   The storm of fear and doubt was the worst thing that I have ever known, worse than the pain of breaking my arm in a fall from the masthead. I gibbered, I crouched, I sobbed, but the golden lanterns gleamed, the rigging creaked, and the water hissed past the hull, smoothly as though under the hand of a seasoned captain, rather than left to swing by the weeping child shivering in a heap on the deck.

  My shame almost drove me to cast myself into the black waters. I had almost resolved to turn back, preferring life in disgrace to the horror of the utter blackness of the empty land and sea. But when at last, in despair as black as the night, I arose to put my hand to the tiller, I saw the grey of dawn begin to seep into the Eastern sky, as though a message of hope from my people. I dried my tears, and took a little wine, and watched the grey light grow as I moved into the uncharted oceans of the North West.

   But though the darkness had tested my courage, the desert tested my will. I sailed, perforce, as close to the shore as the scattered shallows would permit. Though Ut’votnuk draws a very shallow draught, yet even he cannot sail through sand. The two outriggers have often grounded, on sand, or mud or gravel, and I have been forced to pole us free until he shakes himself loose and hurries away. Of course I talk to my ship, I cut down the great tree that my father planted at the begetting of my eldest sister, though to his disappointment she cares only for the study of history, and views us sailors as simple, uncultured primitives. It may be so.   
   But I built this ship, I sawed and planed, shaped and hammered, and I know my octopus like an extension of my own body.  
  
  The great desert... We speak of it, who have never seen it, as though it were one simple place.

It is we who are simple.

   For the desert is a great land, as varied in form and structure as any other. But the desert is the naked bones of the land, stripped of colour, life and movement. The bones and teeth are endlessly varied, the rocks are white or golden, black or brown or pink, dull green or bright yellow, and many many oranges and reds. The sand appears, like a slow golden sea, washing against the hills and cliffs, until even these fall behind, as Ut’votnuk eats the leagues, and all the shoreline, as far as the eye can see, is a golden ripple of the endless dunes.  
   And not a sight of life, no patch of green betrayed the fall or seep of water into the oily sea. My dried fruit was almost gone, my water barrels almost empty, and only ground meal remained to eat, with not enough water to quench my raging thirst, and none to spare for blending porridge or bread. I thought my wits had left me, for none who had ever set forth on the ancient quest of the Lost Kin had ever returned, and it seemed to me that I would join those dead ones, and my por Ut’votnuk would drift endlessly, cradling my bones under the stars.

   Oh the stars ! When first I had found myself truly alone, and all my pride in my own stout heart had turned to tears, I had seemed to lose even the memory of light, and fallen under the spell of despair. As though to rebuke my fear, the rain had fallen as the dawn had turned to daylight, and the thick low clouds had scattered. By nightfall the sky was clear, and in the full dark of the ocean, I saw the stars as though for the first time, and I fell silent with awe and wonder. For all those parts of the sky which we call black are filled with myriad stars, and I dazzled in the glory of Vhardaar, the starbringer.  
   But the great desert... The desert tested my will, as a nightmare through which I struggle to move, trapped in clinging mud, each endless step an unendurable effort, no end in sight, and the darkness waiting.

   We of Zarmats’at know the heat; the wet heat of the rains, and the dry heat of summer, when the grasses turn to gold and the sweetness of the fruit of vine and orchard is richer than honey. Such thoughts tormented me in my thirst, though the hunger was scarcely a trouble in the terrible fury of thirst.   
   It seems an especial torment, to be surrounded by water, to feel its cool fingers soothe the brow, but know it for poison if drunk. And without water, my body became weakened, though Ut’votnuk, as though a thing alive, seemed scarce to need my guiding hand. I would swear on my father’s life that I witnessed the tiller shift, and the sail turn, while I lay gasping in the shadow of Ut’votnuk's side.

   The dry heat of the desert... When the wind was offshore, it carried with it a choking dust, sometimes scarcely more than a glitter in the air, sometimes wisps and tendrils like smoke, and sometimes a thick choking blanket that had me cover all my face, even my eyes, and press Ut’votnuk forwards, as fast as the wind could bear us, until the clean wind swept away the thick dust that reached deep into eye and nose and everywhere it could. Ut’votnuk, once free of the clouds, seemed to shake himself like a dog, though in truth, I cannot say, it may be that my thirst-wrung mind forgets, and I myself shifted the tiller to shake his sail.  
   

   The endless leagues of the great desert. It takes but moments to write, and words say nothing to the ignorant heart. The time of waiting is long for a contented child at a feast, watching the cutting of a cake. The time of waiting in pain is an age. To be alone, and suffering, the fiery thirst growing more fierce by the day, chasing an old myth, travelling ever further from the lights of our people, the lights of any people, into the emptiness of the great desert... 

I could no longer sing.  
  
   It was a dream of my mother that sustained me, I remember her face as she tended my broken arm, the sorrow and pity seemed to mar her lovely features, and I had gritted my teeth and smiled.  
   "Do not weep, dear mother, it hardly hurts at all, truly !" and she had smiled at me and stroked my hair, but the tears had spilled from her rich brown eyes.  
   

  And the rain awoke me, falling in thick fast drops of great size, and I hurried to uncover all the vessels I had set forth on the deck, and reset the sail to catch and funnel the water, as my tears mixed their salt with the sweet deluge. I laughed, dancing like a fly among the raindrops, though I was soaked to the skin, and I sang snatches of songs of rejoicing, and emptied brimming vessels into my barrels, and drank my fill.

  After the rain, which lasted a day and a night, and on into the next day, filling my barrels and my heart ! After the rain, the desert, almost shyly, at first, then with wild exuberance, flourished with green, and the many bright colours of flowers. For a time, it was as though I had never left Zarmats'at, and I passed an inlet that reminded me almost of Jrashushan, though no trees grew here, like those which cast their welcome shade on the fair paved streets of my home. How I craved the laughter of the children, skipping down the long stair to run squealing into the waves.   
   The waves... I had scarcely heard another sound but wood and water since the birds had fallen away with the last of the green and growing things. Not even the birds of the sea cared to linger on the desert shore, and the sky was silent and empty, an almost forgotten place that once had swum before us all with myriads of shorebirds, flicking their wings in their dance of effortless skill...  
   But the birds gathered, drawn by the scent of growth, as was I, being gently reminded by Ut’votnuk that even he could not sail on land, and my course meandered as one who has emptied the flagon, as they say in Jrashushan.

   As Ut’votnuk hurried North, I wondered at the bloom of the desert, until the rain came again, and trees began to scatter the green shoreline. I knew then that my worst ordeal had passed, that beyond the desert, life flourished yet, and it might be that the catastrophe had not yet befallen the Elves, and could perhaps be averted. Hope filled my heart, my eager spirit had me hold Ut’votnuk close to the wind, the sail near bursting from the strength of the breeze, skipping us over the low rolling waves like a skimmed stone, while the white spray swept past us, sparkling and gleaming.

   At night my eyes searched the shoreline for the lights of lamp and fire, but the blackness, though filled now with the fresh scent of mead and forest, and merry with the songs of birds, was empty of all signs of our people, or any people at all.

   For days I watched the empty lands pass by, until at length a burned and blackened swathe of land reached the shore. The still smoking stumps of trees poked through the black and ashen wasteland, but I could not tell whether the fire had been lit by storm or hand of Elf. The ruin came to a end at the shore of a steep river vale, and atop a cliff on the far bank, a fire could be seen, yellow against the dusk. It was large, set back from the cliff, and I took it for a beacon. But something spoke words of caution to me, for the blackened ruin of the burned forest seemed the work of the Enemy beside a great fire such as this. Small figure bearing torches seemed to see my ship pass, but they offered no pursuit.

   After three days, I saw the first sign of a true light, a steady beam that did not waver and flicker as the naked flame, but spoke instead of shelter, and song.   
   It had been enough that my heart yearned so badly for Jrashushan, for my mother, my family, my friends and all the familiar faces. I wept; the loneliness, which I had laid aside as one burden too many, came upon me with renewed force as the hope of company flamed up within me. I sang joyfully, eased my hold on the sail and steered slowly for the low, grassy dunes of the shore.

   But as I drew nearer, the light was doused, and silhouettes of archers lined the crest of the dune. I dropped sail and tiller and raised my hands, palms facing the shore, as Ut’votnuk drifted towards the fading yellow sand in the deepening dusk. The dark figures watched in silence until Ut’votnuk rocked to a soft landing, and I stepped cautiously ashore.   
   "I am a friend !" I cried "I come from far to the South. I seek the Elves who answered the summons of the Valhar, or those with news of them. Or any of our Northern kin. Too long has the desert sundered our paths. Let us unite in peace and friendship."

   They were silent, unmoving. I began to wonder if they were Enemies, or just unfriendly. I was not prepared for the alteration that time had made to their speech. For one stepped forth, a clever, thoughtful Elf, with skin as pale as the underbelly of a fish, and eyes as grey as rainclouds. His face was shadowed with grief, and when I felt the anguish of his spirit, I wondered if I were too late. But he spoke, in the kind of babble that infants use, as far as I could tell, and as he spoke, it came to me that a light shone in his eyes, as bright, almost, as the eyes of The Three, who had gone with the Hunter into the West. I looked at his companions, but only one other had such a light in her eyes, the rest were as we are. The shining Elf pointed to his heart and spoke.   
  "Gildor." he said, and pointed to me. I spoke my name, and smiled at him.  
   "I am Loghal of Jrashushan."

   Gildor smiled cautiously and beckoned me out of the water. As I stepped onto the sand, he gestured, and in a movement as lovely as the turning of the flight of shorebirds, the Elves lowered their weapons and vanished behind the dunes. It was as though they had never been there, but still I felt the watchfulness of their eyes.  
   But Gildor took a silver flask from the pouch at his side, and took a sip from it, blinking at the strength, which made me smile, until he gave the flask to me. It did not burn, as I feared it would, instead the effect was bracing, like a strong wind in the sails. I smiled warmly at him and he nodded, then laughed himself. It was strange, for it was the first time I had ever seen him, or even one of his kin, but I knew at once that he did not laugh often, that he was naturally quiet and thoughtful, like my scholarly sister, and though he was a stranger, I yet felt the joy in him, and the delight, perhaps, in knowing that elsewhere in middle-earth, under different skies, the Elves flourish still, keeping the light of culture alive through the darkness and the storm, and laughing through all.

   But the darkness inside me could not be forgotten, and I looked anxiously into the eyes of Gildor, as though my face alone could convey all my vision to him. And indeed, when the laughter had faded from his face, I saw that others beside myself had had the same warning, and that my message was already too late.

 

 

******

 

 

   Now that the years have passed, I have bidden farewell to Gildor, and all his kind, and returned from the ruins of Beleriand the lost to sail with many others, weeping for Zarmats'at. I have peered over the side of a stranger’s ship, at the white and nacre walls of Jrashushan wavering like a reflection, deep beneath the sea. The green avenues are lined with swaying kelp, and fish swim where the birds once sang.  
   For my vision was a true one, as true as Elven eyes can perceive, and the very sea rose against the Enemy, and the Valhar defeated him, and dragged him hence and cast him into the void.

   At times my heart wrings with pity for him, yes, even the Enemy. For I recall too vividly my horror of the mere darkness, surrounded and cosseted by sea and air, while he faces eternity, in the utter emptiness of the void, alone.

 

 


End file.
